Prototype Nine Thousand and Fifty Five
by Unsuspected
Summary: James Potter had a thing for the unknown. And he figured that the Department of Mysteries would be a very good place to start. He'd heard all sorts of rumors about various prototypes. But Nine Thousand and Fifty-Five was by far the most interesting.


James Sirius Potter had a thing for the unknown. Whether it be abandoned corridors or undiscovered passageways, he'd always been rather fond of adventure.

And he figured that the Department of Mysteries might be a very good place to start.

As a very low-ranked employee, he never really go any jobs of importance.

"Make sure the doors are working right."

"Be sure that the planets aren't just floating around in there! We need order."

"Polish that doorknob. Dust doesn't really give it that air of mystery we want. Bad for our image."

"Check on Prototype Nine Thousand and Fifty-Five."

Well, James supposed that the last of these jobs was not so bad at all. He'd heard all sorts of rumors about various prototypes. But Nine Thousand and Fifty-Five was by far the most interesting.

He had heard that the Ministry at last was coming close to the recreation of time-turners.

So for once in his life, James did exactly as he was told.

He observed the progress of Prototype Nine Thousand and Fifty-Five. But perhaps a bit too closely.

He examined the object very carefully. There was a knob on each side, which he soon discovered turned very easily.

A bit too easily.

Had James not been so trained in spotting a proper joke, he would have thought someone had set him up. The knob on the left hand side whirred wildly, like a Sneakascope would if Albus claimed to despise chocolate.

He imagined this would be something to mention to his superiors.

After all, at first glance, it seemed he had not changed time at all, but simply place.

In fact, unless he was much mistaken, he was at his grandparents' house. Their yard.

He was, however, quickly proven wrong. There was some sort of large tent pitched, and people seemed to be gather even more rapidly than during Christmastime.

And the people—

That was—Merlin, that was Ron! And Hermione! And if he wasn't much mistaken, that girl in the gold dress was Mum! In all honesty, he very much hoped that he was mistaken, for that dress was a bit too low-cut for his liking.

Well, if he was here, he might as well look around a bit.

And if anyone asked... Well, he didn't see Dad around. If no one noticed his eyes, he'd be safe with that.

Besides, he had his lucky Puddlemore United sock with him, and in the two weeks that he'd had it, it hadn't failed him yet.

James did not quite know where to go first. He thought it might be interesting to see Teenage Mum's room. But he imagined it might be something of a shock to have an unfamiliar teenager with questionably styled hair walk into your house and ask to see the bedroom of Ginny Potter—or Weasley, he supposed, which seemed weird enough on its own.

So instead he decided to approach her himself.

"Ginny?" he asked. He was not so worried about being convincing as the awkward questions that may pop up. He was a fair liar—he'd certainly had practice getting out of tricky situations. He was not, however, Teddy, and therefore had quite a lot of difficulty changing his features on the spot.

"Harry?" she said, distracted by a girl in yellow, who could only be Luna. "Ron—" She didn't bother finishing her sentence, but instead drifted over to some newly arriving guests.

He did not see his mother again until the ceremony itself. (This had, he gathered, been the wedding of Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur.)

James had always been fairly good at magic—nothing extraordinary but one of the better students in his classes. So it was very little trouble to cast a Disillusionment charm on himself. Though his aptitude at this spell was likely not from mere talent but from very much practice.

Mum, it transpired, was a bridesmaid.

Though in James's opinion, she wasn't doing a very good job of it. She did not look at all serious, nor did she look especially pleased to be up there. She kept smirking, though, and once in a while she would make some sort of gesture at one of the many red-heads sitting near an ancient-looking woman who kept voicing her opinions in a loud whisper. Indeed, at one comment from the woman, Mum winked at the boy in a rather suggestive manner.

James did not want to see his mother do that ever again. That was the stuff of nightmares.

Especially considering that he had had a short conversation with the boy later, which revealed that he was a cousin.

James suddenly became much more anxious to leave.

He began fiddling with the prototype and found himself in the very same place, though it seemed to be in a different time; no tents were pitched and everything looked as it normally did.

Well, maybe he was in the right time.

And if he wasn't— Well, he didn't learn memory charms for nothing, did he?

He was, however, very careful not to call anyone by what he would normally call them.

Mum was Ginny. Dad was Harry. Grandma was Mrs. Weasley. Grandpa was Mr. Weasley. And his aunts and uncles were not to be referred to as such.

He tried it out. "Hey, D—Harry." "How's it going, Ginny?" "Ron, you're looking well."

It sounded very foreign, as though he were speaking some sort of lost language.

The first person he saw was none other than his grandmother.

Of course.

If there was one person who would notice right away, it would be her.

She seemed to be doing the laundry.

Maybe, he could just run past her-

Now or never...

Well...

It sort of worked out.

She didn't see him. But she would probably see his lucky Puddlemore United sock.

Which would not be very good at all.

Though, he realized, had he not dropped it then, he never would have gotten it to begin with. After all, if he was remembering correctly, he was given not only the sock but also its lengthy history. And it just so happened to stretch for nearly twenty years of cluelessness about its owner.

Well, that was odd indeed.

Maybe, he thought, it would be best if he left now.

But maybe, he thought, he had to take care of a few more things.

For all he knew, there could be some sort of explosion moments away from occurring, and if he didn't stop it.

A second thought struck him—_could_ he get back? Even if he wanted to, he wasn't quite sure that he could. Would he merely get flung back further if he tried?

Maybe it wasn't the best idea considering the possibilities, but he decided to test it out.

Luckily or unluckily, it worked, for the most part. Honestly, he was kind of hoping it wouldn't. He imagined that it could be quite interesting to see what his teenage relatives were doing exactly. He doubted they'd be able to accuse him of much anymore.

But the fact was that James really didn't want to find himself in, say, the 1940s with no escape. For some reason, he didn't imagine that would be all that enjoyable.

Though it seemed he ended up slightly too far ahead… And he really didn't want to go back to the Ministry…

Well, he could just casually put Nine Thousand and Fifty-Five back in its place tomorrow. And hopefully no one would notice.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, not all that edited. Because this isn't exactly meant to be taken seriously. We have plenty of time travel fics in the fandom. I was just trying it out because they are sort of fun to write. I know they're pretty cliche. And I can find three thousand problems with this in one glance. Beginning with the sloppy ending. Sloppy endings are my specialty. But this partially sprung from a conversation with Kelly about time-turners, partially from that mysterious sock in Deathly Hallows, and partially from watching far too much Doctor Who. So a lot of timey-wimey stuff. Thanks for reading.<strong>


End file.
